Emergency
by Nikki1
Summary: A startling experience sets a young Peter Petrelli down the road to self-discovery. Epilogue summary: Peter sedated! What ever are the Petrelli's to do?
1. Chapter 1 Inauspicious Beginnings

Summary: A startling experience sets a young Peter Petrelli down the road to self-discovery. Unfortunately for his family, they're along for the ride. Is Peter's ability really what it appears? AU

For those who have read my other Heroes stories: thanks . This follows 8th Grade History and Stupid Decisions, Complicated Consequences.

**If you haven't read my other stories…um…I recommend that you do. You don't really have to, but this will make more sense if you have the full story. Don't feel like it? ****That's cool, here's the very basic outline of this universe. Basically, the world at large learned about the existence of people with special abilities (AP- Advanced Persons) in the early 20****th**** century. The heroes we know and love are living in a world where their powers are fostered from a young age. ** Please enjoy my latest humble offering.

Emergency 

The sun was just beginning to breach the jagged outline that was downtown Manhattan when Nathan Petrelli awoke. Nathan had never been a morning person, but having undergone military training his body worked like clockwork, forcing him to consciousness at the most ungodly of hours. He sighed and began the process of convincing himself to get out of bed when he remembered something important. He was at home. After finishing two years of specialized preparation and education he was waiting to find out where he would be stationed for the three remaining years of his enlistment. Though some of his comrades in arms had opted to remain at the base until they received their assignment, Nathan had taken the opportunity to visit his family, his daughter in particular. He didn't get to see the toddler very often, though his mother kept him abreast of her every achievement and milestone. Every time he did manage to stop by, Claire greeted him cautiously and refused to be left alone with him. He was usually able to win her over in a few days time, especially when she saw the devotion her hero, Peter, held for the strange man. Yet, inevitably, just as she would become comfortable with her father, it would be time for him to leave. It was a vicious, painful cycle for father and daughter and Nathan only hoped that when they did finally have the opportunity to be a family she would be willing to accept him.

Glad that he had realized he was able to sleep in before he had actually gotten out of bed, Nathan snuggled further under his blankets and told himself he would sleep until at least eight o'clock. Distracted by the pleasure he found in the knowledge that he could sleep for hours yet, he failed to hear his bedroom door softly squeak on its hinges as it was gently pushed open. He also neglected to hear muffled tiptoeing as an intruder crept up to his bed.

"Nathan, Nathan, wake up!"

The startled young man groaned and pulled the blankets over his head in a vain attempt at blocking out his little brother's high-pitched voice. Nathan couldn't, however, ignore the pull of small hands on his very comfortable down duvet. Unwilling to surrender his warm sanctuary, Nathan grasped the boy by his waist and plopped him onto the bed beside him. Peter, ever the insatiable seven year old, shrieked with glee and begged the elder Petrelli to "Do it again!"

Nathan was disgusted when he looked over his brother's head to the clock at his bedside. "Pete, it's five a.m." He propped his head in the palm of his hand as he looked at his brother. "What are you doing up? Go back to sleep."

"But you promised," Peter complained.

"What, exactly, did I promise?" asked Nathan, wracking his sleep-fogged mind to remember if he had in fact compromised his precious sleeping time.

Peter crawled to his knees and crossed his arms in a staunch, no-nonsense fashion, which, on a seven year old, inspired mirth rather than apprehension. "Last night before I went to sleep you promised to take me flying today and since I hafta go to school in a little while you hafta take me now."

Nathan rolled his eyes and silently cursed his own stupidity. He had told the little squirt that they would cruise the skies, but that was just so Peter would shut up and fall asleep. The boy had been up way past his normally enforced bedtime in celebration of Nathan's visit and by 11:00 p.m. was showing no signs of fatigue. Nathan, on the other hand, had been exhausted from being pulled around the city by an excited seven year old while simultaneously trying to win the affections of his two and a half-year-old daughter. So he had acted out of desperation and told Peter they would go flying if Peter went immediately to sleep, hoping that the child would forget by the next morning. Unfortunately for Nathan's plan, Peter had knocked out within three minutes and he obviously hadn't forgotten his brother's regretful offer.

Nathan dragged himself out of bed and rummaged for a shirt, prepared to explain to Peter all the reasons why they couldn't go flying. "Peter, you know ma doesn't like for you to fly. She's afraid I'll drop you or something."

Peter hoped out of the large bed. "But I know you won't ever drop me! Not in a million years." Nathan dropped to one knee and rested a hand on his brother's thin shoulder. "Well, yeah, you know that and I know that, but, all the same, you don't want to scare ma, do you?"

"No." Nathan watched as a sly look, more familiar in his own reflections than on his baby brother's face, blossomed before him. "But we don't have to tell her." Peter dropped his voice to a whisper. "It can be a secret."

Nathan laughed. "Pete, you couldn't keep a secret if your life depended on it." Peter knew that his brother was probably right, but he continued to beg anyway.

"Please, Nathan!"

"It's too cold, Peter."

"I'll wear a jacket."

"You'll be late for school."

"We can go for an hour tops."

"I'm too tired. I'd probably fall asleep and drop you into the zoo. You'll have to be raised by monkeys."

"Naaathan…."

"No, Peter."

"You promised."

_Sigh_. The young man considered his situation. As it stood, he could make his brother very happy and his mother truly furious or he could disappoint his brother while keeping his mother content with his mild behavior. Was making his brother happy for an hour really worth living through his mother's wrath? One look at his brother's big brown eyes and down turned mouth and Nathan had his answer.

"Go get dressed," he said reluctantly. Peter's eyes lit up and he tore out of the room before his brother could change his mind.

Nathan grinned as his brother's footsteps grew lighter. He knew that his mother would eventually forgive him, but his brother would never forget the morning he flew.

* * *

As predicted, Angela had found out what her sons were up to almost as soon as they had left and she was every bit as angry as Nathan had expected her to be. She had controlled her outrage until the children were safely stowed away, Peter at school and Claire at daycare, at which point she loudly informed Nathan that he was a dim-witted fool and threatened to beat him soundly if he should ever endanger her son's life again. Nathan bore it all well, knowing that his brother had never been endangered but old enough to see the wisdom in holding his tongue. Having had her say, Angela decided that escorting her to several society functions that she had scheduled throughout her day should be appropriate punishment for her oldest son. Nathan had originally chuckled at the idea that his mother considered their time spent together to be punishment, but by the time the ladies of the Red Cross, the NY Children's Fund and the Matrons of the Arts were all through with him he understood the cunning behind his mother's innocent suggestion.

Having survived their interrogations, sat through detailed biographies of eligible daughters and offered polite responses to the same question on everyone's mind, "Claire is such a doll. Whatever did happen to her mother?", he was now being treated to a well deserved lunch break. After ordering Nathan caught a smug little smile playing about his mother's lips and, quirking an eyebrow, he said "After that, we are completely even."

Angela responded by pursing her lips and reaching across the table to pat her son's hand. "Not even close."

Nathan groaned and Angela began asking questions about life on the base, his classes and his friends, her signal that they no longer needed to discuss the issues of that morning.

Halfway into the surprisingly pleasant lunch the maitre de interrupted them apologetically, explaining that there was a call for Mrs. Petrelli. Nathan wasn't surprised. His mother made it a habit to dine at the well-known restaurant every Monday so naturally all her friends and acquaintances would know where to find her. He was, however, alarmed by the pale, frightened look on her face as she raced back to the table.

"We have to go," she said, collecting her things.

"Ma, what's going on?" He had never seen his mother so visibly agitated in public. She didn't answer him until they were outside waiting or the valet to bring their car. "It's Peter. Something happened at school."

Her words echoed in his ears, sending vibrations through this body that left a wave of nausea in their wake. "Peter?" he asked in disbelief that anything untoward could happen to the rambunctious little boy. "What? Is he okay?"

She paid the valet and entered the car without a word. Nathan strapped himself into the passenger side with trembling hands. "Ma?" Her posture was rigid and her gaze focused. "I don't know."

They arrived at the school in record time, especially for Manhattan. Nathan bowed to Angela's lead as she marched towards the administration offices, her mind refusing to consider even the possibility that her son was hurt…or worse. The headmaster who, to Nathan's relief, looked rather flustered but not necessarily frightened or concerned met them as soon as they stepped into the administration center. He quickly ushered them into his lushly carpeted personal office, forgoing the customary pleasantries and offer of coffee or tea.

"Peter is fine," he began after taking his seat on the other side of an imposing walnut desk that had been the source of many a childhood nightmare for nearly a century. Nathan dropped his head into his hands in relief. He couldn't help admiring his mother's self-possession as she sat waiting for the inevitable addendum.

"However," the headmaster continued, choosing his words delicately. "We have had quite a serious…episode."

"Spare us the polite phraseology, Mr. Fern," ordered Angela in a dry tone. "What happened to my son?"

Headmaster Fern clenched his jaw tightly. He had never liked Mrs. Petrelli. She was far too bossy and overbearing for his tastes. Chiefly for that reason, he had never liked Peter much either. "Nothing happened to your son, Madame. Your son has behaved entirely inappropriately. And by the way," he leaned forward toward the mother and son. "it would have been nice to learn from you that the boy could fly."

Angela bristled. "_The boy_ has a name. I'll thank you to use it. Besides, I don't know what you're talking about. Peter cannot fly."

"Well he can certainly do something. Mrs. Petrelli your seven year old son jumped off of our four story building in the middle of recess."

The mental picture generated by his words horrified Peter's already concerned relatives. Nathan jumped to his feet, demanding to see his brother immediately, while Angela pressed her hand to her chest, trying to still her rapidly beating heart.

Mr. Fern raised his hands defensively and calmly asked the frightened young man to sit down and allow him to explain. Nathan was only further frustrated by the man's composure. "You said he fell off a building! How do you expect me to relax? I need to see my brother now."

"Mr. Petrelli, as I said before, Peter is fine. No broken bones, not so much as a scraped knee or a hangnail. He's sitting in the nurses office as we speak and we'll see him as soon as we are done here."

"How is that possible?" asked Angela.

"He…something happened." The headmaster scratched the back of his head in a motion that conveyed both confusion and weariness. "None of his friends will say anything. They obviously don't want to create trouble for Peter or for themselves. All we know is from a noon duty aide who didn't see Peter until he was already falling. She ran over in time to see him just…stop about three inches off the ground. Being familiar with the family history," he nodded towards Nathan, "we naturally assumed that he was flying or levitating or something equally unnat-, uh, unusual." He just stopped himself from using the word unnatural, though the added glint in Angela's eye warned him that she understood his true meaning.

"Thank God he wasn't harmed," said Angela as she rested a comforting hand on Nathan's arm.

"Of course, we feel the same." The man tented his fingers. "However, there is still the issue of punishment."

There was a painfully long moment of silence. "Do I understand you correctly?" countered Angela icily. "You believe Peter is deserving of punishment for a near death experience that could have been prevented had there been proper supervision?"

"Come now, Mrs. Petrelli, you can't honestly blame the school for Peter's actions. He wasn't pushed and he didn't trip. He jumped."

"I can do whatever I want, Mr. Fern, that's the luxury of being a Petrelli. Now how exactly do you plan on punishing my son?"

Mr. Fern cleared his throat in an obvious display of discomfort. "There has been some rash discussion by board members about…well…expulsion, but I do not think…"

"Nathan, would you please excuse us?" interrupted the enraged mother. Feeling affronted at being sent out of a room like a child despite his recent achievement of 21 years, Nathan whispered into his mother's ear, "Ma, I really want to stay with you. This guy is an ass. I don't feel right leaving you alone."

"Nonsense," she said loudly, calculatedly eyeing the nervous man across the desk. "I'm more than capable of handling myself with Mr. Fern."

"Mrs. Petrelli, please…" The educator gulped.

"Go see to your brother, Nathan."

Seeing that his mother was adamant that he leave the room Nathan reluctantly rose from his chair. He smoothly adjusted his tie while glaring at the administrator out of the corner of his eye. He had learned that he could be very intimidating by pairing those two moves together and he had gleaned from his formative years spent at mothers knee the importance of presence and intimidation.

Trusting that the nurses office hadn't been relocated in the nearly ten years since he had left the hallowed halls, Nathan maneuvered his way through the quiet office until he found the familiar glass paneled door. A glance through the windowed entry showed a middle aged woman shuffling through papers at one side of the room. Opposite from her sat Peter. Even though Headmaster Fern had assured the Petrellis that Peter was whole and hale, part of Nathan was still expecting to see blood, bruises and broken bones. It was shocking that after plummeting four stories his brother could calmly gaze out of a window with his hair still as smoothly parted to the side as it had been that morning without a wrinkle in his heavily starched uniform. 'No', Nathan corrected himself, 'it wasn't shocking. It was mind blowing. Terrifying.' Nathan's desire for control had only increased with age, which meant he did not appreciate being scared.

The headmaster's words filled Nathan's consciousness as he watched his brother.

**He jumped**

'_He could have died.' _Nathan's grip on the door handle tightened.

**He jumped.**

'_He should have died.'_ Nathan shut his eyes tightly, attempting to ward away the graphic images of his brother lying broken on the ground.

**He jumped.**

'_What was he thinking?_' Nathan watched his brother yawn widely, a sure signal of his boredom for those who knew him best.

**He jumped.**

'_The little idiot.'_ Fear thusly transferred to anger, Nathan threw back the door and strode purposefully inward. Fear was foreign. Anger he could handle. He let the door slam behind him for effect and he was glad to see his brother jump at the loud noise.

"Nathan!" Peter shouted happily, hurdling over his chair to throw his arms around his big brother. "Did they tell you? Did they?"

The elder Petrelli allowed himself to momentarily indulge in the very welcome feeling of Peter's unbroken arms before grasping the boy by the shoulders and holding him at arms length.

"Did they tell me you stupidly jumped off the roof? Yeah, they told me Peter. How could you be such an idiot?" He didn't intend to shake Peter as roughly as he did, but between the shot of pain between his ribs and the distractingly loud pounding in his ears he felt unable to stop himself. "You should be dead right now Peter. Is that what you want? Do you want to kill yourself?"

"No," the boy shouted in return, disappointed that his brother was reacting so badly to what he considered to be good news. He refused to meekly back down in the face of his brother's anger. "Let go of me!"

Nathan ignored the child's demand, though he did lighten his grip. Reminding himself that strangling his brother would be bad, he forced the second grader back into his chair before taking a seat in its neighbor. "Okay," he said, trying to calm his outrage, but finding it difficult as he watched Peter glower in the seat beside him. "First thing, we both need to calm down."

"You yelled at me," accused Peter as he slumped further into his chair.

"So did you," Nathan retorted childishly.

"Only cause you grabbed me really hard," Peter defended himself.

"I was trying to shake all the stupidity out of you before you try jumping off another building," Nathan hissed, trying not to let his anger regain momentum but failing miserably.

"You don't get it," Peter muttered, kicking the book bag at his feet. Nathan grasped Peter's face and forced the boy to meet his gaze. "Then help me understand, Pete. Do you know what the idea of you getting hurt does to me? Damn it, Peter, you're my baby brother."

Peter could see the anguish clearly written across his brother's face. He could feel the hot, panicky tears burning for release as if they were his own. He could sense the tightening in Nathan's chest and he could hear the nearly imperceptible hitch in his breath. This was pain that he had caused. Forgetting the indignation he had felt only moments prior, he threw his arms around Nathan's neck, burying his face against the familiar shoulder, seeking to give comfort just as much as he sought to receive it.

Sheer force of will alone held Nathan's tears at bay as his brother turned towards his solid familial strength. "You're okay," he murmured into Peter's hair. "You're okay. That's all that matters." After giving the boy a few moments to regain composure Nathan moved him so that the brothers stood face to face. Ensuring that Peter's eyes were locked on his, Nathan asked him to promise never to risk his life in a similar fashion.

"But Nathan," Peter protested. "I knew I wasn't going to get hurt."

Nathan didn't even attempt to hide the unbelieving roll of his eyes from the seven year old. "How could you possibly have known that, Peter?" Nathan suppressed a groan at the sparkle that shone in his brother's eye when he heard the question. That sparkle meant Peter was excited and Peter wasn't generally excited by things that weren't dangerous or at least inappropriate.

"I knew," his voice was hushed and he leaned towards his brother, "because I'd already done it.

"Done what?" asked Nathan in exasperation. "I still don't even understand how you stopped from becoming an asphalt pancake."

"I flew!" Peter insisted.

"Are you sure?" asked Nathan with a telling half grin that spelled out 'I don't believe you' for the younger Petrelli. "Because what's-his-name said you hovered or something." Eager to convince his brother of his newfound ability, Peter explained that he hadn't actually flown in the sense that Nathan could, but he had been suspended in the air, which was a key part of flight.

"See, Nathan? I think I can fly but I just gotta learn how. You'll teach me, right?"

"Hold on, back up a little bit," Nathan replied gravely. "How many times have you done this?"

"Well…" Peter frowned and quirked his crooked mouth. "Twice."

"Twice before you jumped off the roof?" Nathan clarified.

"Well…" Peter looked up from under his dark brows in a manner that did not bode well. "No. Two times with the jumping off the roof thing."

"So let me get this straight." Nathan massaged the bridge of his nose in an attempt at staving away a growing headache. "You jumped off the roof based on one experience where you hovered a few inches off the ground."

"Uh…yeah," Peter grinned sheepishly. "I know it sounds dumb, Nate, but I really knew it would happen again. And I was right after all."

Nathan opted to ignore his brother's dangerous logic and instead asked him to elaborate on his single previous 'flight' experience.

"Okay, it all started when I got to school today," he began, leaning comfortably against his brother's knees. "I always get here early so me an' my friends can play before school starts. Trent, Vince Gould, Johnny an' Mike an' me were all here and Vince said we should play super heroes." Peter stopped and heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Of course Trent, Mike an' Johnny all wanted to be Spider Man, so they fought about it for a while until Johnny started crying. Then I said they could all be Spider Man together and they stopped fighting. So Vince was Batman, Johnny, Trent an' Mike were all Spider man and I was you."

Nathan blinked erratically, not sure if he had heard his brother correctly. "You were…who?"

"You," Peter said matter-of-factly. "I'm always you when we play super heroes." The flattered young man chuckled and ruffled his brother's hair, pleased to hear proof of how highly his brother thought of him, though he would die before admitting it.

"Anyway, we were deciding who should be the leader. Vince said he should be the leader cause Batman has cool toys. Johnny, Trent an' Mike said they should be the leaders cause three Spider Mans could beat up any bad guy around. I said I should be the leader cause Batman and Spider Man are just pretend, but Nathan Petrelli is real. Then that dumbie Vince got me really mad cause he said you're not even a real super hero, you're just a really old big brother."

Nathan suppressed a growl.

"So I told Vince he was a dumb baby who doesn't know anything and that Batman's dumb too cause he can't even fly but my brother can! Then all of them said they've never seen my brother fly so how could they know if I was lying or not. I wanted to show they how cool it looks when you're flying, with you head out high and your body all straight like an arrow, just like you were flying this morning. So I climbed up on top of the monkey bars and I jumped off, trying to remember just how you did it. I had my eyes closed real tight cause I knew I was gonna hit the ground kinda hard but I didn't wanna see it. I waited and waited but I didn't feel the ground smack my face. All I remember is feeling a funny, kinda weird feeling.

Then Johnny said "Whoa, Peter!" and I opened my eyes and saw that I was floating. Then I yelled and fell," he rubbed his arm, embarrassed at admitting this to Nathan. "But the guys said it looked really cool and they said I should try it again somewhere higher so I could maybe fly a little bit. But then the school bell rang and we had to go to class. Wasn't till lunch time that Mikey ran up saying he had a really good idea. He showed us that someone had left the door to the roof staircase unlocked."

"How did he know it was unlocked?" Nathan inquired. He couldn't help but be intrigued by his brother's tale.

Peter shrugged. "He always likes to test doors to see if they're unlocked. Mike's kinda weird. And that's it. The guys stood on the playground and I climbed up and jumped off. I knew I wouldn't get hurt. It was weird, though," said Peter pensively.

"Yeah, well flying isn't exactly a normal process," said Nathan, for the first time allowing himself to take pride in the fact that his brother shared his ability.

"It's not just that," Peter said. "When I stopped falling I felt like…like you were with me."

"You mean, like holding you up?" Nathan suggested.

"No, it wasn't like your body was there. Something else. I dunno how to explain it."

"I guess I can't help you there, Peter, because I've never felt anyone's presence while I was flying."

"But I was flying, don'tcha think?" Peter asked eagerly.

"I guess it's possible," Nathan answered, not wanting to get his brother's hopes up in case he hadn't flown. "It's hard to tell without actually seeing it happen."

"Hmm," Peter nodded. "You're right. I'll have to try again."

"No," Nathan shouted, appalled that his brother would suggest such a move. "No more jumping off of buildings Peter. Ever. Again."

"But Nathan," Peter complained, hanging on his brother's arm petulantly. "You'll be there this time. Come on."

"No freaking way, kiddo," said Nathan adamantly. He would be unmovable on this subject. Yet he really was fond of the idea that his brother took after him, so he decided to compromise. "I'll tell you what, Pete. You promise to stop jumping off of stuff and I'll help you figure out whether or not you can fly. Deal?"

"Deal." Peter was more than happy with his brother's suggestion. The boys were sealing their pact with the secret handshake Peter had forced Nathan to learn when the door swung open and Mother Petrelli entered the room. Peter was relieved when she simply enveloped him in a warm hug, not a trace of anger in her often hard face or a harsh word to be heard.

Unfortunately, Angela only held back the lecture she felt due the child because she was painfully aware that Peter would be getting more than his fair share of punishment from his father. She only began to breath easier when she had thoroughly inspected her youngest. A full body MRI couldn't compare to the hawk like precision of a worried mother's stare. When her son began to squirm under the intensity of her gaze she stilled his movements by sandwiching his face between cool hands. "Never again," she said solemnly. Her countenance clearly communicated that it wasn't a request or hopeful suggestion; it was a statement of fact.

Peter stole a brief glance at his now stoic brother before nodding his agreement.

"Good," she said lightly, dropping a kiss on his clear young brow and gently patting his cheek. "Now, lets get you home." She turned on her heel, eager to vacate what she now considered an odious institution and never doubting that her offspring would follow.

Peter had always admired the way his parents and brother were able to step so lively yet never fall out of synch with each other. He looked forward to the day when he was big enough to keep time with them. For the present, however, Peter was forced into a trot in order to keep up with his relatives' brisk stride. "I don't have to go back to class?" he asked absentmindedly, most of his attention being focused on matching his steps with Nathan's.

"Not today," she replied, "and not here."

"What do you mean?" Peter suddenly didn't care about walking like Nathan. He stopped in the middle of the hallway. "I'm not gonna come to school here?"

Angela didn't so much as pause at Peter's question. "Not anymore. We'll find you a better school."

"But I like this one. My friends are here. Nathan went to school here. I'm not going to leave." Several yards now Peter and his relations, though it seemed like miles to the young boy. He wanted more than anything to close that distance but felt that doing so would signify his acceptance of Angela's proclamation and that he refused to do.

Angela turned slowly and eyed her son with a look that sent a trill of warning through Peter's heart. She was often amazed by the complexities she found in Peter's character. Nathan she understood because he was like herself; shrewd, manipulative and capable of constructing elaborate emotional facades. Peter confused her. He was generally sweet, open and caring to a fault but then, at times like this, he was stubborn and unresponsive to the reasoning she and Nathan both cherished. He was, for her, a living portrait of moral duality. '_Just like his father_,' she thought sardonically. Over the past few years she had been increasingly amused to find that while Arthur spent sparse enough hours with their youngest son Peter resembled him in so many ways.

She was not amused, though, to see Arthur's stubborn jaw set doggedly on Peter's face as they watched each other from opposite ends of the hallway. Nathan, for his part, took the time to thank God for making him Peter's brother and not his parent.

Angela held her ground, figuratively and literally. "Peter, I am your mother and you will do as I say. I am doing what I see is best for you. You need a school that is more appreciative of your unique qualities."

"Is this because of what happened?" asked Peter worriedly. "Mr. Fern was really mad."

"My decision has nothing to do with the incident from this morning." Angela sidled a warning glance at Nathan. "Your father and I have been discussing other options regarding your education for some time."

His mother was lying. Peter could tell. Her body language screamed subterfuge; from the way she looked at Nathan to the firm line of her tightly clenched lips. It hurt Peter that his mother would willingly lie to him. He had a natural appreciation for honesty, though even at seven years old he often felt that that it was a unique quality among the Petrellis.

Nathan mistook the hurt expression on Peter's face as a manifestation of his dread at leaving the school so he assured Peter that he hadn't really liked going there anyway.

"It's not such a big deal, Peter. You should talk to some of the military brats I've met. One guy had switched schools five times in one year, and he turned out okay."

"But what about my friends?" Peter inquired. "Me an' Vince have been together since preschool. What if they forget about me?"

Angela smirked patronizingly at his childish concern. "Who could forget a special boy like you, Peter? Besides, you'll make new friends."

"Don't want new friends," Peter muttered darkly, scuffing his recently polished shoes against the recently polished floor. Sometimes he was really annoyed by how the adults in his world required everything to be so shiny.

"Alright, I'll make an allowance," Angela sighed, taking the initiative and crossing the hall to her pouting son. "We can make Friday evenings a regular sleep over night for your old friends."

"Seriously?" he asked incredulously. His parents didn't even like to have his friends over for dinner, let alone sleepovers. His father complained that little boys have no concept of quiet activities, which Peter took to mean they were too loud.

"Very." Her husband wouldn't be happy and, if she was completely honest, she wasn't looking forward to those Friday nights either, but she realized that Peter would need a huge concession if he were going to accept the school change. '_Besides_,' she assured herself, '_in a month or two he'll be so wrapped up in his new school that his old friends will be completely forgotten._'

"Can we watch movies?" Peter asked excitedly, not even aware that his mother had smoothly slipped an arm around his shoulders and was now leading him towards the exit.

"Only one, provided it's age appropriate of course." She smirked at her older son as he fell in step beside him. "And that, my dear, is parenting," she whispered as Peter babbled on beside her.

"Right," Nathan laughed as he held the door open for his mother and brother. "First lie, then bribe. I'm taking notes."

"Hmph," Angela scoffed as she slid into the car. "Hold onto your righteousness while you can, Nathan. You'll see for yourself one day."

Peter interrupted the pair's quiet dialogue. "Will you lock Claire up so she won't bug us?" Nathan laughed at his brother's hopeful request, aware that while his little girl was still too young to be any source of entertainment for Peter she was old enough to follow him from room to room talking constantly. Angela glared at Nathan, scolding him for encouraging Peter to mistreat his niece.

"Of course not, Peter. Though I will make sure that Claire is suitably occupied while you have visitors."

"Well can we at least order pizza from Scardino's?"

"No," said Angela automatically, "But I'll have Cook make some whole wheat organic pizzas."

"Aww mom," Peter complained.

Nathan relished in the rare moment of familial joviality. He knew it wouldn't last, of course. Eventually Peter would have to face their father and answer for his escapade, which would be a ruckus he wasn't eager to experience. If he had known then that the reality of Peter's extremely distinctive ability would take their family through the highs and lows of an extremely wild ride, he probably would have lingered in the car with his mother and brother for just a minute longer.

But he didn't.

* * *

End Chapter 1- Inauspicious Beginnings

I hope you enjoyed. This was a really long chapter for me. Was it too long? Please review…I greatly value the opinions of others. Probably a little too much.


	2. Chapter 2 Chip off the ol' Block

Summary: In the aftermath of Peter's first flight we discover that despite their troubled relationship, father and son may have more in common than previously thought. AU

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I love it!

**Chip off the ol' Block**

Not many people have a favorite desk, but Angela did. It was made of cherry colored wood; old yet well preserved with all the original drawer pulls and it alone held the distinction of being the only piece of furniture to have survived three separate redecorations of the Petrelli home. One designer had had the gall to suggest that they either sell the piece or at least move it to a less focal area of the house.

"Like an attic or basement," the man had joked.

Angela hadn't been amused. It was _her_ desk, or, as she privately called the delicate antique, _their _desk. Angela had first seen the desk during a trip through Pennsylvania she and Arthur had taken while they were still dating. The then young woman had fallen in love with the romantic piece in a rural antiques shop but she had been severely disappointed to learn that it wasn't for sale.

She was justifiably shocked when she returned home from the trip and discovered the desk in her bedroom. Ecstatically pleased not only with the desk but with the display of affection from her generally unromantic beau, she immediately called Arthur to thank him for the gift.

"Open the top drawer." She could still remember the mysterious tinge to his voice and how she had shivered at the sound.

"Hmm, another surprise?" She looked back and laughed at how willingly she complied with his directions.

Inside she had found a ring. The ring. The ring that would lead her parents to boast of their daughter's good match. The ring that would cause her friends to congratulate her openly but jealously berate her in secret. The ring that she would usually cherish but sometimes loathes. One day it was a golden ticket, a key to the highest circles in the city; the next it was a noose growing tighter and less escapable every day. The ring was a blessing and a curse in the truest sense of the cliché.

The desk, however, was a constant good. It signified not only a wonderful vacation, but more importantly, it spoke of a thoughtful, sensitive lover. She kept it in easy view and made a special point to use it regularly as a reminder of who her husband had been, who he could be if you were to strip away work and his CAP obligations. It wasn't just important to her. It was vital to her sanity.

With the high levels of stress in the Petrelli home in the days following Peter's incident, Angela felt an intense need for the comfort of her desk and so she found herself sitting at her old friend going over the guest list for a dinner party she was planning. Arthur sat across the room, feigning interest in the day's edition of the Times. He held the paper in front of him, but the absence of the distinctively soft rustling of turning pages told Angela that he had been staring at the same page for nearly half an hour. Some might argue that he was simply being a careful reader, but a wife doesn't live with her husband for as long as Angela had without recognizing trends in behavior. She knew it was unusual.

"They're late," Arthur complained, breaking the silence of the room.

"Who, dear?" she asked, though she knew he referred to her sons and granddaughter. Nathan had taken the children to the park at Angela's suggestion when Arthur had returned from work in a dark mood.

"Don't be stupid, Angela," Arthur growled, lowering his paper in order to throw a razor edged glance at his wife. "You know who I'm talking about."

Angela turned to face her husband, hurt at his curt language and bewildered by his increasingly foul behavior. "Arthur dinner isn't for a half an hour so how do you figure they're late?"

Arthur snorted in response. "By the time they get home and get ready for dinner they will be. You know what a mess Peter makes of himself where there is even slightly exposed earth, let alone the park. It takes 40 minutes just to wash his hands. Nathan was never such a damn messy kid."

The affronted mother threw down her pen. "My God, Arthur what is wrong with you? You've been so eager to pick a fight these past few days. You even snapped at Claire last night."

He crumpled his paper and threw it to the corner of the sofa. "Is it really so much to ask that my family should be on time for dinner? Is it such a monumentally difficult task?"(1)

"Oh, really Arthur, we both know this isn't about dinner or punctuality. You're still angry that I pulled Peter out of Hillcrest: the Petrelli family tradition. Admit it."

"I don't give a damn about Hillcrest," he muttered, brushing past Angela to pour himself another drink. Angela was silent as she watched her husband serve himself. The only noise in the room was the delicate tinkling of ice against crystal.

"Peter apologized for what he did," she said quietly. "It's unfair of you to continue holding it against him. He…"

"Will you shut up about Peter?" he shouted loudly, slamming his glass against the mahogany of the bar. He cursed as alcohol sloshed over the brim of the cup and onto his hand and the wood below. "Just stop for five minutes Angela." He wearily ran his drenched hand over his face. "You have no idea what is…what I've…" His back was to her but she caught his reflection in the decorative mirror hanging on the wall. She saw the frantic look in his eyes, a look uncharacteristic of the great Arthur Petrelli except in rare cases. Few people were ever allowed the level of intimacy required to correctly identify the meaning behind this panic, but Angela wasn't just anybody. She was his wife of 23 years. Over two decades she had lived with the man; loved him; bore his children. She knew that look.

Suddenly it all made sense. The anger. The frustration. The emotional and physical distance. "You've been dreaming again," she gasped, crossing the room in long strides to be beside the brooding man. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Don't Angela," he warned. "I can't talk about this. Not with you."

"I'm your wife," she reminded him, placing her hands against his rigid back. "If you can't confide in me, whom can you confide in?"

He turned and grasped her hand tightly in his own. "No one," he said sadly. "I don't know if even I understand them. They're different and strange." He laughed miserably. "If only we all had the gift flight, life would be much easier."

"Maybe I can help you," Angela persuaded, feeling closer to her husband than she had in weeks. "Please let me try."

He pulled his wife flush against himself and hissed into her ear, "Leave. It. Alone."

Any response she wanted to give was forgotten as the sound of her children returning home rang loudly through the house. Peter rushed into the room first, shouting incoherently while dancing an impromptu jig. Claire giggled happily from her perch in Nathan's arms, clapping along with her uncle's silly dance.

"Peter, calm down," Arthur ordered releasing his wife who quickly stepped away from him. "What's the meaning of all this nonsense?" Angela shot her husband a warning glance at his harsh words for their obviously elated son.

Peter, however, was too beyond himself with joy to mind his father's attitude. "I did it. I really really did it," he said after taking little calming gulps of air. "I flew! Didn't I, Nate?"

"He did," Nathan grinned proudly as he set Claire on the floor beside his brother. "And he didn't even need a launch point, just pushed himself off the ground like an old pro." He ruffled his brother's hair as he walked over to the bar. "Way to go, Pete. Here's a tip: flying really impresses girls. (2)" Nathan winked and laughed when Peter's seven-year-old mentality forced him to communicate his disgust.

Angela congratulated Peter on his success and pointedly ignored Nathan when he exclaimed "What happened?" upon sight of the flooded bar counter. Claire had attached herself to her uncle's waist, her young heart catching the flame of excitement that she sensed burning around her though she didn't exactly understand the cause. Peter hugged her back good-naturedly. Annoying as she could be, he loved his niece. He couldn't wait until he was strong enough to take her flying. '_Hey_,' he thought, _'Why wait? I can show mom and dad and Claire how cool flying is right now!'_

"You want me to show you?" he asked his parents. "I can do it really good, no fooling!" Angela smiled indulgently but Arthur gruffly nixed Peter's plans for a performance.

"Not now, Peter," he said, picking up his mistreated paper and attempting to smooth out its wrinkles. "You need to go wash up for dinner."

"But pop it'll just take a second," Peter said hopefully. "Please!" Nathan watched his father optimistically, looking for any sign of leniency or appreciation for his little brother.

He was disappointed.

"Don't make me repeat myself, young man," he snapped. "You're making us late enough for dinner without taking the time to show off."

Angela's heart broke as she watched her son's head droop, his father's rejection a sad antithesis to the boy's former jubilation. The renewed closeness she had been feeling between she and her husband was no more. She gathered her blissfully oblivious granddaughter into her arms and led her dejected son from the room, asking him to relate in detail his afternoon at the park.

Nathan listened as his brother's voice faded away. He eyed his father, debating whether or not he should reproach the elder man for his treatment of Peter.

"Pop," he said hesitantly, handing Arthur his refilled glass. "You know, it wouldn't have taken very long for him to show you. He has been working at it really hard."

Arthur accepted the glass but ignored his son. He walked out of the room, leaving Nathan alone to bemoan the growing number of cracks he was finding in his hero's armor.

* * *

Relations between Arthur and his family remained icy over the next week. It was almost unfair that while the other members of the household held his unsociable behavior against him they were unaware that he was regularly waking up several times a night, soaked in sweat with his heart in his throat. No one knew that some nights he would lie in bed for hours, afraid to fall asleep. Afraid of what he would see. Would it be Peter lying in a pool of his own blood? Would the blank stare of eerily white eyes greet him that night? Just about anyone would agree that there is no worse fate than that of a parent who lives through the death of his or her child. What would those same people have to say to the man who helplessly watched his son die on a nightly basis?

Now Arthur may not have been the ideal father. He would be the first to admit that he was impatient and harsh. He expected too much, too fast, too soon. He hadn't even wanted Peter in the first place, but he had him. He was his son and blood was everything to a Petrelli. Besides, he did love him in his own way.

'_What the hell does it all mean?_' He flung the question into the cosmos as he once again lay awake at three a.m., frustrated and quaking with fear. Careful not to disturb his slumbering wife, Arthur crept out of bed and walked down the hallway to his son's room. He needed to see him sleeping safely, unwounded and whole. He tiptoed softly over the blue carpet, relieved to see the gentle rise and fall of Peter's chest. Arthur arranged himself so that he was sitting at the edge of the racecar bed his son was fast outgrowing. "You want to believe that you're just like Nathan," he whispered, "but my dreams tell me differently." He leaned in towards his son, hovering just above his ear but close enough to smell the freshly clean scent of recently bathed little boy. "Who are you, Peter?"

He fell asleep watching his son and woke up before Peter even knew he was there. Though the pull of his bed was especially tempting now that the sun was peeking over the horizon, the clock read 5:26 am and he had a seven am meeting downtown. He quickly dressed and left for the office without a word to his wife or son.

The patriarch's absence wasn't an unusual occurrence but it did leave breakfast a party of two. Nathan had taken Claire to visit some of his old friends two days earlier and he wasn't meant to be back till the end of the week. Neither Angela nor Peter minded the diminished table count. Even as Peter felt his brother's absence, he was relieved to have a series of meals without the nonstop babbling of his niece and Angela was always glad to have private time with her special boy.

In her customary self-centered fashion, she used the time to recite the long list of items requiring her attention before the upcoming CAP event to an obviously disinterested Peter.

"I'm not going to Mr. Larson's place today," he interrupted abruptly, Mr. Larson being the temporary tutor Angela had found for Peter. To Peter's delight his parents had agreed that he could attend the exclusive AP school that had opened in NY about ten years prior, but as mid year enrollment wasn't an option the qualified tutor was overseeing his education for the time being.

Although Peter, like the average kid, wasn't terribly fond of school, Angela was surprised at his announcement. Mr. Larson was a kind, patient man whose company Peter genuinely enjoyed and he had never had any qualms about attendance before hand.

"Yes, you are," Mrs. Petrelli replied, not bothering to address the sudden change of heart.

"I can't," Peter maintained, putting down his toast and matching his mother's stare.

"May I ask why not?"

"Nathan's coming back today and he's bringing a friend that he wants me to meet," Peter answered, sure of his words even if his mother wasn't.

"You're wrong, Peter," Angela said, occupying herself by serving her son a fresh glass of milk. "Nathan will return on Friday, not today."

Peter shrugged. "Plans change, ma." Angela suppressed a chuckle at his spunky audacity.

" How exactly are you privy to that information?" the senior Petrelli inquired.

"What's privy mean?"

Angela sighed. "Why do you think Nathan is coming home today?"

"I dreamed it," Peter said, as if it were a normal occurrence. Strangely, in the Petrelli household it almost was. Almost, but not quite.

"You dreamt that Nathan was coming today?" she asked suspiciously.

"Uh huh. And he's bringing Ted."

"Who's Ted?"

"I dunno. He's got really bright eyes though."

"Peter, it was just a dream," said Angela dismissively. "Do you remember when you dreamt that tiny monsters were living in your shoes just waiting to devour your toes?"

"Yeah." He refused to meet his mother's eyes, unwilling to see proof of the patronizing disbelief he heard in her voice. Instead he lowered his gaze to the plate on the table before him. "It's not the same," he said quietly.

"All dreams are the same, sweetheart." She dabbed her mouth with the expensive linen napkins she had shipped in from Italy. "They're simply creations of your subconscious mind. Nothing more. Your father explained that to you."

"This was real, ma. It was different. I could tell," he insisted.

She raised her eyebrows imperiously. "Oh? Like you _knew_ there were carnivorous beasts in your shoes. I seem to recall that for two week you refused to put on your shoes until someone had checked them."

"That was a long time ago," he blushed. "I was a baby."

"Four months ago?"

"Ma, please, I need to stay," he pleaded.

"No." She remained firm, refusing to cave in to his pitiful pleas even when he pouted adorably.

"But ma…"

"That is enough," she barked loudly, causing Peter to jump in his seat. "It was a dream, Peter. Billions of people all over the world dream every day and none of them ever come true. Why should yours be any different? Dreams are fantasy, make believe, products of over active imaginations. It's immature and unhealthy to cling to their validity." Her irritation softened at his hound dog expression and she offered the boy a gentle smile. "Now, that silliness is behind us, yes? You will go to spend your time with Mr. Larson, Nathan will return at weeks end and that is that." She pretended not to mind when Peter grunted a minimalist response. "Come give me a kiss and then get all of your books together."

He lurched indolently along the table towards his mother and pecked the proffered cheek. She took the opportunity to pull him into an embrace. He was taken off guard and fell heavily against her upper body, trapped there by her unexpectedly strong arms. "I'm more than happy with my amazing flying Petrellis," she whispered into his ear. "Don't try to be something more than what you are. Leave the fortune telling to your father."

They each considered the other for several intense moments after she released him, both lost in their own thoughts. Peter broke the spell when he suddenly turned and walked away, Angela assumed to do as he had been told.

Angela's motherly instincts chided her for being so blunt with the young boy. '_He's still a baby,_' the honeyed voice crooned accusingly. '_You couldn't even allow him his dreams. What kind of mother are you?'_ Angela banished the thoughts as quickly as they arose. She stormed from the breakfast table, eager to busy herself and prevent any more unbidden regrets from taking hold.

'_I know what's best for Peter_,' she thought, sneaking a glance at the sad eyed boy in the rear view mirror as she drove him across town to Mr. Larson's office. '_This world isn't made for dreamers. We need to be firmly grounded in reality to thrive. I learned that the hard way. I won't have the same for my son._'

* * *

Despite her perfunctory dismissal of those pesky maternal instincts, several hours later Angela was busy planning a mother-son outing to make up for unabashedly demolishing Peter's faith in his dreams. No, she honestly bore no subconscious, deep-seated guilt for having done so, but her shrewd mind was able to perceive that she _should_ feel guilt for the act and Angela's life was all about doing what _should _be done. She should be a permissive wife, so she acted like one. She was wealthy therefore she should be generous, so she pretended to care about her various pet charities. Angela had always been a closet Shakespeare fan and, after all, all the world's a stage, right? Acting the part was second nature to Angela, and she didn't intend to change.

She had a full day of networking and socializing ahead of her but, for once, she decided to put Peter's needs ahead of her own. Before Peter was born she had confided to Nathan that she didn't want to repeat past mistakes with her second son (3) and she had learned that sometimes doing so meant putting Peter first. Angela remember that a few nights earlier Peter had been showing his father a flyer to some new amusement park that had him very keyed up. Arthur had, of course, rebuffed his son's please of "Can we go?" as a waste of time, but Angela distinctly recalled Peter putting the flyer in his father's desk.

'_Probably hoping he would change his mind_,' she thought with a rush of anger at the knowledge that he never would.

She pulled her car up to the family home with the sole intention of rummaging through her husband's desk for that flyer. If she and Peter were to spend the remainder of the day together she couldn't afford to be side tracked by meaningless tangents. A quick dash and grab seemed possible upon first glance of the empty house. Not even pausing to deposit her handbag on the entryway table, Angela trotted up the winding staircase in a childlike manner she hadn't indulged in for decades.

Her goal, Arthur's study, was in view when a hallway door opened and a laundry basket laden maid revealed herself.

'_Damn it_,' cursed Angela at the sight of the new hire. The woman was everything the Petrellis required in household help, that is to say loyal and discreet, but for some unknown reason she assumed Angela wanted to be informed on every minute detail of the goings on in the Petrelli home. If Angela needed information, she had more reliable sources than the 34-year-old wife of a watchmaker with no obvious talents, skills or interests besides a young son and a strange passion or snow globes (4).

"Oh, Mrs. Petrelli," she said in her uniquely soft yet high voice. "I didn't know you were in."

"I'm not," Angela said brusquely as she attempted to stalk past the younger woman. '_Not dealing with her today._'

The other woman, oblivious to every signal displayed by Angela's defensive body language, side stepped in front of her. "I thought you might want to know…"

Angela stopped her mid sentence. "Tell me later," she ordered and walked around the obtuse woman, continuing her trek to the office. Just a few more steps and her hand was on the door.

"Oh, but Mrs. Petrelli…" the charwoman protested from the spot in the hallway where Angela had abandoned her. Angela simply rolled her eyes in annoyance, skillfully tuning out the woman as she entered her husband's favorite room.

"Surprise," called a voice from within.

Angela started when she heard the voice, the room was supposed to be empty, but she absolutely forgot to breathe when she saw who was sitting calmly across the room from her.

"Nathan!" she gasped. "What are you doing here?"

Nathan laughed as he rose from his chair, tickled that his surprise was so effective. His mother had a notorious skill for uncovering secrets before anyone else. "This has to be a first. Angela Petrelli: Surprised. Stop the presses. Too bad pop wasn't here to see it."

Angela's mind was reeling. '_He must have called Peter last night. That's the only explanation._' She gulped indelicately, desperate for air. "Did you tell Peter that you were coming home early?" she asked bluntly, groping behind her for the seat she knew to be there.

"No," replied Nathan, his glee quickly morphing to concern by his mother's inability to nonchalantly brush off her surprise. She looked terrified. "I only decided to come up a few hours ago, kind of a last minute thing. Ma, is everything okay?"

'_It's a coincidence,_' she thought. '_It has to be_.' She attempted to regain composure, repeating her calming mantra of '_Coincidence, coincidence._' After a few moments she was able to look her worried son in the eye and ask, "Why? Why not wait till Friday?"

A bit offended that his mother of all people would seem so upset to see him, Nathan crossed his arms and leaned heavily against one of his father's many bookshelves. "It's not a big deal or anything, but I wanted Peter to meet a friend of mine who's going out of town on Wednesday. This is his only time to come to the city."

Angela didn't know whether she should laugh or cry. '_It could still be a coincidence_,' she thought feebly, though the more rational part of her mind scoffed at her hope. "What's his name?" she asked, focusing her eyes on the pattern in the wood paneling behind Nathan's head. '_Please say Bob…Michael…Louis_…_anything except_…'

"Ted. Ted Sprague. Why? What's with the third degree, ma?"

"Dear God," mumbled Angela, sinking into the plush chair, her mind abuzz with warning that all was not right. She stared into Nathan's confused eyes, willing him to share her fear, her overwhelming panic.

"Peter…Who are you?"

* * *

And….done. I think I'm pretty happy with how this chapter turned out. I hope you all feel similarly. Please review…I truly love to read and reply to your comments. Oh, and I already started the next chapter, so hopefully it won't take too long to get up.

Notes:

(1)Arthur's penchant for punctuality is introduced in 8th Grade History

(2)Once again …refers to a scene in 8th Grade Historyt where Nathan uses his gift to wow a potential date

(3)This line refers to a conversation between Nathan and a pregnant Angela that takes place in 8TH Grade Histor

(4) This is a secondary character from the series…I think it's pretty obvious who it is. She isn't a major part of my story, but it does leave the door open for someone else to drop in, now doesn't it?


	3. Chapter 3 When Peter Met Ted

Summary: While Nathan and Angela try to deny Peter's eccentricities, trouble is forming in the shape of a radioactive man.

Very quickly: Thanks to everyone who reviewed previous chapters. You are so appreciated. I especially want to say thanks to those who reviewed anonymously because I don't get the chance to reply personally.

I hope you all enjoy this latest installment in Peter's saga of self-discovery. I don't think I've ever written anything very dramatic, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I correctly communicate the emotions I attempted to portray. Thanks for reading!

Once again: I recommend reading 8th Grade History and Stupid Decisions, Complicated Consequences.

**When Peter Met Ted**

The first instruction given at the scene of a large-scale disaster is usually "Don't panic!" but does there come a point when panic is an appropriate reaction? If there is, what is that point? Do the passengers on a doomed flight panic at the first sign of turbulence or do they wait for the free fall? Do the inhabitants of a city under attack flee at the sound of jets on the horizon or do they only begin to panic as bombs drop around them?

Perhaps Nathan was being melodramatic in comparing his current situation with those of dying passengers and war ravaged citizens, but at the time he felt that doing so clearly portrayed the depths of his anguish. When Angela had delineated the reasons for her unorthodox reaction to his arrival Nathan had tried considering the situation logically. No one had multiple unrelated abilities, he reasoned. It wasn't possible as far as current genetic science was concerned. Naturally there had to be an explanation.

"Maybe pop dreamt it and, for some reason, told Peter about it," he had offered as he paced the length of the room.

His mother had eyed him skeptically. "Why would he do that?"

"I dunno ma, but it makes more sense than Peter mysteriously being able to fly and dream the future, doesn't it?" The pair had agreed that it was the only semi-plausible explanation and, for the sake of both their sanity, accepted it as the truth.

Convincing himself of this obviously flimsy and contrived excuse helped to stave away Nathan's encroaching panic. His mother also appeared momentarily appeased, though Nathan was familiar enough with reading his mother's moods to recognize that she was hiding her true emotions.

Ignoring the nagging sense of impending disaster that was knotting her stomach, Angela stood and smoothed her skirt. She turned, planning to leave without another word to her son, but her movements stilled when she remembered why she had entered the study to begin with. She was already within reach of the door, her fingers itched to grab hold of the knob and make clear the path that would lead her from that oppressive room. She rotated her head so that her husband's large desk sat in clear view. Should she get what she had come searching after?

'_Nothing has changed,_' that sweetly voiced maternal instinct whispered once more. '_If anything, you owe Peter more. After all, he was right._'

'_I can't face him_,' rational Angela argued. '_Not now. He's so perceptive. He would instantly see in my eyes the fear I feel in my heart.'_

"Ma? Are you okay?" The already concerned brother was disturbed to see the vacant look on his mother's face as she gazed toward Arthur's desk. Nathan shocked his mother out of her inner dialogue by gently grasping her elbow. "Don't freak out on me now. Peter's fine."

The typical Angela Petrelli smirk of superiority resumed its post as shield and barrier as the woman acknowledged her son. She gently patted his cheek, the only display of affection she allowed herself with the strong untouchable Nathan. Men of his caliber were not to be fondled or squeezed, even by their mothers. Peter she kissed. Peter she hugged. Peter she caressed. These silly emotional outlets were acceptable with Peter because he was simple and sweet. Peter would never be in newspapers or history books, but that was alright because it meant no issue of image or publicity would inhibit his ability to love and be loved in return.

At least, that's what Angela used to believe. After the events of that morning, she wasn't so sure.

"Don't use the word 'freak', Nathan. Its so colloquial," she reprimanded while removing her hand from her son's face.

"Fine. Don't spazz out," he teased, glad for the familiarity in the sharp rebuke.

"Hopeless," Angela sighed. She hesitated as a though struck her. "Nathan. I need a favor."

"What favor?" asked Nathan suspiciously, aware from past experience that one did not blindly oblige oneself to Angela Petrelli.

Angela pursed her lips at the wary look in the young man's eyes though she inwardly chuckled at this display of mother/son similarities. "I need you to pick up Peter from the tutor's office." She rummaged through her purse for Mr. Larson's card. "Here's the address. They'll be finished in about half an hour." She took the act of accepting the card as him agreeing to pick up his brother and so she vacated the room, eager to be alone and organize her thoughts.

"Ma, wait," Nathan called after her, following the surprisingly swift woman through the hallway. He caught up to her as she was beginning to descend the staircase. "Why can't you get Peter?"

Unwilling to admit that she was currently unprepared to face her seven-year-old son, she lamely explained that she had far too many other obligations.

"I already told you that I have a friend visiting," Nathan complained, the remnants of his selfish teenage immaturity on parade in his whining tone.

"Don't be such a child, Nathan. I'm sure your friend can stand entertaining himself or the 15 minutes it will take you to go and return."

"But ma, you always taught me to be a good host," he retorted cheekily, utilizing the sly yet charismatic air that led people to believe he would do well in politics, " and a good host doesn't abandon his guest, now does he?"

Angela wasn't similarly impressed. She glared at him through narrowed eyes until he conceded dramatically. "But," he warned with a glint in his eye. "We're going to fly." Flight was always Nathan's ace in the hole. He knew his mother didn't like Peter to do s o over the busy streets of the city.

"Good," she smirked knowingly. "He needs the practice."

When his mother sauntered off to do her necessary social networking, Nathan went to find wherever his radioactive friend had wandered. He found the plaid clad young man in the front room, standing near the mantle piece and holding a picture frame in one hand. When Ted heard Nathan's footsteps he grinned and held up the picture so that his friend could see the image. "You were such a cute baby, Nate," he joked, turning his eyes once more to the infant in a pink jumper who was being supported by faux clouds and angel wings. "So daring of you to wear pink."

Nathan stomped over to his laughing friend and tore the photo out of his hands. "That's not me," he growled. "It's Claire, obviously."

"Sure," Ted teased, perusing the rest of the pictures on display. "If that's your story…" He paused as he found a large picture of a teenaged Nathan holding a happy toddler in his lap. "The brother?"

"Peter," Nathan agreed, setting Claire's baby picture back in its precisely ordered space. "He was two, I think."

"Cute kid," Ted said, choosing not to comment on the cheesy grin plastered across Nathan's face in the photo.

"Yeah, he's okay," Nathan said dismissively, though he couldn't hide the pride or love in his eyes when he spoke of his baby brother. "He's seven now. Just found out he can fly too."

"No kidding," Ted whistled. "Lucky kid."

"Speaking of Peter," Nathan cleared his throat awkwardly. "I kind of hit a bump in the road. My mother needs me to pick him up, so I'm going to have to leave you alone for a few minutes."

"No big deal." Ted threw himself back onto the large sofa in corner. "I'll just make myself at home."

"Right," Nathan said as he walked backed toward the door. "Just, you know, don't burn or melt anything, okay?"

Ted laughed at his friend's concerns, knowing that they were rooted in the exploits of the pair's camp adventures. "Lighten up, Nathan," he shouted to the young man as he walked across the threshold. "No pun intended."

* * *

As expected, Peter wasn't unduly surprised to see Nathan. "I knew you were coming," he had shouted excitedly when he saw his brother standing in the doorway of his tutor's office.

The elder brother laughingly protested against the younger boy's rib crushing bear hug. "Relax kiddo, let me breath for a second, will ya?"

"Is Ted here?" Peter peered around his brother's side to see if anyone was lurking behind him.

"No," he answered, taking Peter's too heavy backpack in one hand and steering his brother down the steps with the other. "He's waiting at home." Questions were dancing along Nathan's tightly clenched tongue, held in check only with great resolve. Could Peter describe Ted's features? His clothes? Did he know what time they had arrived and the number of the train they had taken? He wanted to ask these questions and hear Peter describe Ted as a thin, balding, middle-aged Asian man wearing a suit and tie. He needed Peter to be wrong, to prove that his supposed 'prediction' was all just some unlikely but very real coincidence.

But what if Peter wasn't wrong? Concurrently, what if he was familiar with every detail of that morning's homecoming? Could the fragile sense of ease Nathan had carefully constructed less than an hour earlier truly stand in the face of solid evidence? '_No. It couldn't_,' Nathan accepted, begrudgingly honest with himself for the first time that day. He looked down at the innocently content boy jumping over every crack in the sidewalk and he realized that he didn't want to know the truth about Peter. Not just yet.

"C'mon Pete." He hoisted the book-laden bag to his shoulder. "I'll race you."

* * *

Peter liked Theodore Sprague from the moment he saw him sprawled on his mother's leather settee with his feet propped up on the coffee table, a considerable offense in the Petrelli household. Peter adored his brother, with his sense of propriety and decorum, his always smoothly parted hair and his crisply collared shirts. He had, however, assumed that these traits were a product of his brother's impressive age, so to see one of Nathan's peers dressed in worn jeans and a shapeless flannel shirt with a mop of scraggly hair was eye-opening for the sheltered lad. He had playful eyes that contrasted with the shifty, guarded movements of his limbs and Peter could see in the hard lines of his face that he hid a painful, possibly tragic past behind his cheerful façade. Peter appreciated interesting people.

"Peter, this is Ted, a friend of mine from way back at Endless Horizons. I've told you about him before."

Peter's expression displayed his awe at meeting, in his opinion, a legendary figure. "You're the guy who got in big trouble for melting that girl's tennis shoes to the cement!"

"Thanks for starting me off on a good foot with your family," Ted joked, smacking his friend on the arm in reproof.

Nathan raised his hands defensively. "Hey, you're one of Peter's heroes because of that story."

"Oh, yeah!" Peter confirmed, wide-eyed and grinning crookedly from ear to ear. "Wish I could've done that to Phoebe lee when she tried to kiss me at the park."

Ted laughed and patted the boy on the back for his typical seven-year-old comment. "Give it a few years and I think you'll back on that day differently, Peter."

"Besides," teased Nathan as he crouched down to Peter's level, "I thought you said you liked Phoebe Lee."

Peter blushed and lowly hissed "Nathan, shut up" while throwing a sideways glance at the still laughing young man besides him.

"But Pete," Nathan continued, feigning innocence. "You told me all about her long shiny black hair and her pretty smile."

"Naaaathaan…" the poor boy begged once more.

"In fact," Nathan grinned deviously, "I remember you saying that she was your girlfr-" Peter quickly lunged at his loud mouth brother with a pillow form the nearby sofa, smashing the soft object into the older boy's face and effectively muffling that embarrassing word.

Ted howled his laughter as he watched while the scrawny little boy toppled his friend. Unfortunately, Nathan was quick to react and so gained the upper hand in the gentle wrestling match. He soon had his brother lying against the floor and began tickling him mercilessly. As much as Peter rolled, pushed, kicked and protested, he couldn't evade his brother's able fingers.

"Ssstop, Nathan," Peter managed to strangle out between trills of laughter.

"Not until you admit that she's your girlfriend," Nathan persisted, sharing a mirthful glance with his entertained friend. Ted was glad to see how well Nathan interacted with the boy. He had known Nathan back before Peter was born, when Nathan was anxious and unwilling to accept the title of brother. He was glad to see that the relationship had worked out so nicely for his usually serious and overburdened friend.

The torture continued for a minute or two until Peter, with tears of laughter rolling down his red cheeks, finally shouted, "Okay, okay! She's my girlfriend!" Once he had regained his ability to breathe, Peter forced the two young men to swear never to tell anyone that he was a dreaded girl-liker.

"My friend's wouldn't understand," he explained solemnly.

Ted couldn't resist ruffling the boy's dark hair. "I like this kid," he said to Nathan. "Little ladies' man." Peter was elated to hear the approval in Ted's voice and, eager to score more points in the eyes of his new friend, he willingly complied when Nathan asked him to run and fetch a couple cans of coke.

Peter entertained the pair while they enjoyed their refreshments, relating the story of his notorious high dive and reciting the fifty states and capitals, which he had recently learned in school. When, at Nathan's prodding, Peter performed some airborne acrobatics, Ted was duly impressed.

"Nice," he said as Peter landed, albeit a little unsteadily. "I have to say, I've always been a little jealous of this fly boy." He jerked a thumb toward Nathan. "That's a really cool ability."

"But yours is awesome too," Peter countered. "You can melt stuff!"

"Yeah, that's cool, eh Melty?" Nathan grinned mischievously.

Ted gave the teasing young man a dirty look and fought the urge to make a crude gesture. "Actually," Ted said, tearing his attention away from the annoying brother and instead focusing on the bright-eyed inquisitive Petrelli, "I'm essentially able to induce radioactivity. The Radioactive Man is much cooler than Melty, don'tcha think?"

"Radio…active?" asked the confused elementary student.

"Well," he began, scratching his head contemplatively. "According to the scientific explanation, I can manipulate subatomic particles in a way that generates and emits radiation. It's taken a lot of hard work but I have pretty good control over it now. I can even choose whether to emit microwaves or gamma rays, so that's pretty cool."

Peter's stared blankly back at him. "Good job, Mr. Wizard. I'm sure Peter's gotten to the lesson on subatomic particles by second grade," Nathan commented, rolling his eyes.

As it was obvious that his explanation had gone over Peter's head, Ted grabbed his empty soda can and placed it on the table in the middle of the room. "Watch this," he said proudly as he moved several feet away. Peter sat next to Nathan with his elbows on his knees, biting his lip in anticipation. "I'll show you Melty," Ted sneered at Nathan, who just laughed at his friend's defensiveness. Old wounds die hard and Ted had borne the offensive nickname for years among their AP friends.

Peter watched mouth agape as Ted held his distance. He could sense the cool determination and pride in the set of Ted's shoulders as he narrowed his eyes, leaving only thin slits of glowing red visible to his captivated audience. The well-trained young man willed his body to generate the heat that was as comfortable to him as his own skin, reveling in the control he had achieved through years of determined practice. As he felt the intense heat begin to climb out of the pit of his stomach and billow outward he forced the energy upward, focusing his gaze on the aluminum can.

In a flash, a second, a blink of an eye, the now smoking can was leaping from the table and soaring through the air. The only sign that Ted had even done anything was a momentary flash of red light that Peter would have missed had he blinked. Peter sat speechless throughout the preceding, his wide eyes fixed on the can as it fell to the floor with a soft pinging noise. Once the can was settled Peter jumped to his feet, loudly exclaiming his approval as he ran to Ted and asked to be allowed to touch his eyes.

"I won't poke, I promise," he said excitedly. Nathan was just glad that Ted's precision aim meant that his mother's expensive table remained unmarred.

Satisfied with his inspection of Ted's special eyes, Peter ran across to the room to the lightly smoldering container. "Can I keep the can? Whoa, it has a big hole in it," he observed as he reached for the heated piece of aluminum.

"Be careful, Peter," Nathan warned, irritated that his brother would be so foolish as to touch an obviously superheated object. "You're going to burn your hand off." Either pretending not to hear his brother or deciding to be outright disobedient, Peter wrapped his hand around the can. Nathan, as always, had been right to warn Peter against touching the object, as was made evident when Peter yelped loudly and released it.

"I told you not to touch it, doofus," Nathan sighed in the weary tone singular of vexed older brothers. He moved toward Peter, hand outstretched to receive his brother's burnt appendage. "Let me see the damage. Damn it, if you have to go to the hospital ma's gonna slay me."

Ted winced as he uncomfortably watched the brother's interaction. He couldn't help feeling responsible for the boy's pain. Peter had stopped yelping and waving his hand in a vain attempt to cool his abused palm, which was exactly the behavior one would expect of him. Instead, he was standing very still, gaping mouth and eyes as round as saucers communicating his bewildered state. The rasping sound of labored breathing quickly reached Ted's ears, causing the man deep concern. He had seen burn victims on many separate occasions and Peter wasn't acting like a burn victim. "Are you okay, Peter?" he asked, thrusting out his arm to stop Nathan as he walked by.

"Watch it," Nathan said sharply at the intrusion of this unexpected obstacle.

"Something isn't right," Ted whispered to his friend.

Nathan frowned and turned to face his brother. "Pete?"

"Hot," Peter managed to sputter, his breath releasing in small pants. "Too hot," the frightened boy tore at his crisp green button up Polo, "Can't breathe. Nathan!" He shouted. "What's happening?!" Peter fell heavily to his knees with a strangled cry, his face hidden by shaking hands. "Too much burning. So hot. Help me!"

"Peter!" Nathan bellowed, struggling against Ted's restraining arms. "Let me go, he needs me."

"No," returned Ted, fighting to keep Nathan at a distance from the suffering boy. "This isn't right, Nathan. Something weird is going on."

Oblivious to the struggle taking place on the other side of the room, Peter continued to scream his pain, confused and unfamiliar with the heat building up within his body. He could feel it licking at his ribs, burning up the oxygen in his lungs. It was traveling through his veins, through his arteries, setting fire to every cell and piece of tissue. He knew it was searching for escape, for release. '_Nathan_,' he thought weakly. Every movement was torturous but he achingly raised his head and sought for his brother.

"Dear God," muttered Ted as he watched the boy pry apart his eyelids. He knew that look building up in those churning irises. He was more familiar than anyone with that tell tale glow, the steady encroachment of a burning ruby red. In one quick move Ted stepped in front of his friend. Both were thrown backwards as a high-powered blast of energy, courtesy of the frightened boy across the room, collided with Ted's chest.

Peter was horrified to see what he had inadvertently done. He scuttled backwards on all fours, tearing his dangerous daze away from the two young men. His was a gentle soul, unwilling to hurt anyone, least of all his brother.

He shouted, "Stop it! Stop!", but wherever his eyes wandered a trail of flames remained in their wake.

Nathan and Ted jumped up from the floor, overwhelmed both by the smoke from the merrily burning drapes just overhead and the realization that something was very wrong with Peter.

Nathan looked to his friend, offering him a silent plea for help. Understanding that only a radioactive man could stop a randomly radioactive boy, Ted raced across the room and tackled Peter. The only thing he could think to do was cover the boy's eyes with his wide hand. The overwrought Peter fought against him, wailing for his brother. Not only was the child terrified by the changes taking place in his body, but the room was quickly filling with smoke and piercing noise from the nearby fire alarm, all of which left Peter feeling disoriented. Understandably, he wasn't in the mood to have an unfamiliar hand pressed solidly across his face. As Peter flailed his arms and legs wildly Ted looked over his shoulder, begging Nathan for assistance.

Making up his mind to do what he felt was necessary, Nathan bounded over to his kneeling friend and frantic brother. "I'm sorry, Peter," Nathan shouted over the noise of crackling flames, shrieking smoke detectors and the far off sound of sirens. "I don't have any other choice." He wrapped his hand around his brother's thin neck, feeling for the nerve that, pressed just so, would render his brother incapacitated. '_Being in special forces does have its advantages_,' he thought wryly. He felt relieved yet heart broken as his brother's cries died away and he lay limply in Ted's arms. He accepted Peter's unmoving form, gathering him to his chest and burying his face into the warm junction of his neck and shoulder.

Nathan didn't acknowledge Ted's shouting as he insisted that they all get out of the way of the fast growing fire. Exasperated, Ted grabbed his friend by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet. "We have to leave, now!" he shouted into Nathan's expressionless face. Started into coherence, Nathan swallowed thickly and nodded, briefly glancing around the room before turning to follow the other man. Already he could tell that the room was beyond saving. He stood in the doorway, his brother clasped against him. The sound of sirens was very close. He wanted to panic. He rationalized that people would understand if he chose to do so, but he was a Petrelli. He was a man. He was a big brother. Unlike those passengers and villagers of his earlier musings, panic was not a luxury he could afford, now or ever.

Firemen burst into the house, forcing Nathan out of their way. As they worked furiously Nathan leaned against a wall in the foyer and sank to the floor. From h is seat he had a clear view into the burning room. His mother's precious desk was directly in his line of sight.

Or what was left of it.

Angela's most prized possession had always been a tangible symbol of stability for the often turbulent Petrelli household, and as he watched as it was consumed by dancing flames he knew that their lives would never be the same. Everything had changed as soon as Peter had projected fire from his eyes. Whether this change was for better or for worse, who could tell? Time alone would be the impartial judge in that matter. He looked down to the boy cradled in his arms and he ran a hand through his downy soft hair. "Who are you, Peter?"

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I can't believe I finished this chapter. It seemed like it would never be done. Seriously, I know it's not that long, but it was really difficult for me to write for some reason. I hope you all feel that the struggle was worth the effort. I'd love to hear your thoughts, opinions, criticisms… There's a lot that I want to say about decisions I made in this chapter, but I don't want to make this drag on.

In other words, please review! I always feel pathetic asking for reviews, but it really does help me to gauge the direction of my story and whether it's worth continuing


	4. Chapter 4 Paging the Good Doctor

Wow...sorry for the long wait! Eek! Life has been insane, but I won't bore you with the mundane details.

So, as of now this is the last chapter for this story. Emergency was intended simply to be a short story about Peter discovering his ability and I feel this is a good place to stop. I'm considering writing an epilogue of sorts. Who knows, maybe I'll just suck it up and write another chapter, he he he, I don't know. I have many more ideas for these folks though. I think the next one up will be a series of chapters looking into how Peter absorbs various abilities. I'm also really looking forward to writing a story about how they Petrelli's discover Claire's ability and how it affects the family. Not sure which I'll do next. We'll see. Thanks for sticking with me.

Many many thanks to by7the7sea for reminding me to keep writing! And happy (late) birthday! :)

Enjoy!

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The human mind is an amazing thing.

This is not only true in reference to the APs amongst the general public, but generally speaking, the human mind is astonishingly capable. The brain stores incredible amounts of knowledge, both practical and superfluous; perhaps more of the latter than the former. Phone numbers, addresses, likes and dislikes, the names of the seven dwarfs or Santa's reindeer, can all usually be retrieved without much effort. Yet what is truly fascinating about the human mind is not that we can store facts, but that we can convince ourselves that what we have always known to be true is actually false. We call this denial. A woman weighs herself one morning and, upon seeing that her weight had jumped ten pounds, convinces herself that she didn't get any larger; the scale must be broken. When a heartbroken child is rebuffed by a former friend, he is quick to insist that he 'didn't want to play with him anyways'.

Angela, however, had not had much practice in the art of denial. She had been raised to believe that problems should be dealt with directly. Deception she could manage, thanks to her very Machiavellian father's insistence that deceiving others for their own benefit was not only justifiable but, indeed, laudable. Naturally, there were times when Angela desperately wished to be like one of the weak-minded fools who could peacefully sink into the fleeting embrace of denial. She had made this yet unredeemed wish several times through many difficult years of marriage and involvement with fairly illicit CAP activities, but she had never yearned more for that blissful state than she did the afternoon of the fire.

She had been so focused on her thoughts and the business of her day that she didn't even notice the faint smoke continuing to lazily stream from her home until she was pulling her car alongside the curb a few houses down from hers.

The street in front of her home was congested with emergency vehicles. Anyone who has ever returned to a place occupied by loved ones only to be ambushed by the wail of a siren or a warning flash of red will understand the cold thrill of anxiety that instantly stole through Angela's chest.

'_Don't get out of the car_,' her only thought. As long as she remained at a distance from the hectic scene she could almost pretend that she had taken a wrong turn and mistakenly arrived at the wrong address. After all, the whole situation was just that: Wrong. What business would emergency personnel have at her home? What danger would dare encroach upon Petrelli territory?

And yet…she cursed her staunchly rational, logical consciousness for obliterating her every attempt at convincing herself that she did not belong at the hectic scene. The hope that she was at the wrong address was countered by the fact that she had lived there for nearly 25 years and had never lost her way beforehand. She knew that as soon as she stepped out of her car she would see Peter's new bike sprawled across the sidewalk, something that irked his father to no end. She would see Nathan's rental car parked across the street. Rose bushes expertly trimmed and growing alongside the gate. Shutters that had recently been painted a delightful hunter green. All the painfully undeniable hallmarks of her home.

Hawkish neighbors were gathering on the other side of the street, hovering and whispering, sharing what they knew of the events that morning. Though they appeared sympathetic, Angela was loath to meet them. She dashed out of the car before she could be spotted by the sharp eyes of these acquaintances. A fireman attempted to stop her as she rushed towards the house, but a determined Petrelli woman is not easily gainsaid, which the man was quick to learn.

As soon as she stepped over the threshold she two things; first, the wreckage of what had once been her front room, and second, her eldest son leaning heavily against the far wall. She succinctly swept a searching stare of her son's body, and while he was coughing lightly, he appeared to be unharmed. Of course, she was relieved to see that Nathan was well, but she was also concerned by what she did not see. Peter.

Nathan straightened as he saw his mother walking towards him, trying to stifle the urge to cough. Any display of weakness, even a slight one, was to be avoided around Angela.

"Where is he?" Her eyes glittered dangerously as they bore into those of her eldest son. She knew he wouldn't ask for clarification.

Nathan sighed and massaged his temple, wearied physically, mentally and emotionally from the day's ordeals. Soothing the fears of the worried mother bear wasn't something he had gladly anticipated. "He's in bed."

Angela didn't require any further information before springing into action. She could instinctively feel that the strange events surrounding Peter for the past week were rapidly approaching a culmination, and she didn't like it.

She pivoted away from her obviously whole, though fatigued, son with the sole intent of rushing up the staircase and on to her baby boy.

Nathan, seeing what his mother intended to do, furrowed his brow and thought '_Here comes the hard part_.'

"Wait, ma, you can't go up there yet."

She didn't so much as pause. "Like hell I can't," she muttered dryly. His mother's uncharacteristic use of unrefined language spoke volumes regarding her level of agitation. He was tempted to simply allow the focused woman to do as she pleased. Unfortunately the doctor had insisted that he and Peter be left alone. Nathan's concern for his brother's well-being vastly over-weighed his fear of his mother's wrath so he bound after her in large steps, reaching her before she was midway up the staircase.

"Seriously, ma, you can't," he said firmly, grasping her elbow in his right hand and bringing her to a jerking stop. She turned an icy glare over her shoulder to rest on the obstruction that called itself her son.

"Unhand me, Nathan," she commanded evenly, her tone giving lie to her racing heartbeat.

Nathan took a deep breath and stepped up so that he loomed over the smaller figure of his mother. "I can't ma. Not until you calm down and listen to me."

Matching her son's intimidation tactic, she stepped up one place further so that she and Nathan stood even. "I don't know what happened in my absence Nathan, but it was obviously something very traumatic and my son needs me." She stepped up again, positioning herself a few inches about the young man. "I won't ask you to release me again. You might not have seen fit to be at your brother's side but I certainly won't abandon him."

Nathan raged at his mother's caustic words, bristling at the mere implication that his brother was anything less than everything to him. He moved so that the pair was standing on the same step, simultaneously releasing her elbow only to grasp her by the shoulders. "Who do you think you're talking to?" he hissed forcefully. "You know I would die for that kid. Don't you dare accuse me of not caring about him."

"If that were true, Nathan," she replied heatedly, roughly brushing his hands from her body, "you would be with him now, rather than leaving him…"

"You don't even know what you're talking about," Nathan interrupted, exasperated by the turn of the conversation. "You have no idea what's happened here today."

"I don't need to know the details to recognize that something is very wrong with my baby," she maintained, her even tone beginning to crack under the pressure of her anxiety. "He's only seven Nathan." Her lip quivered despite her frantic attempts at keeping her stoic mask in place. "He needs me."

Nathan shifted uncomfortably. He hated when women cried, especially when, on the extremely rare occasion, that woman was his no-nonsense mother. Understandably softened by his mother's obvious distress, he did what he assumed was the right thing and pulled her into an awkward embrace, which she accepted willingly though she did not reciprocate. The uncustomary display of affection was brief, neither lingered in the hug for more than a second or two, yet she seemed to draw strength from her eldest's seemingly limitless stores.

"Thank you," she said brusquely, blinking back treacherous tears. "I've always known I could count on you to be the strong one."

Nathan shook his head slowly and dropped his gaze to the carpeted floor boards. "We're all gonna have to be strong now, ma. Today was…weird and…bad." He knew his word choice was childish for a man of his age and education, but he could think of no other way of describing the recent developments in Peter. "Dr. Suresh is with him now. He said to leave them alone until he's done."

"Dr. Suresh?" she asked worriedly. As a geneticist rather than a general practitioner, the man wasn't known for making house calls that were anything except social. An intelligent woman, Angela immediately recognized that Chandra Suresh's presence could only mean that Peter's ability had somehow gone awry.

"Peter…" Nathan grunted and shoved his hands through his hair. "He…well…he ignited the front room." He quickly related the disastrous events of that morning to his mother, the words falling eagerly from his lips. He hadn't realized that he had such a need to unburden himself. Though he knew the validity of his words, they sounded insane even to him. His mothers expression was disbelieving to say the least.

"I know it sounds crazy, but this really happened. One second Ted is showing us his laser vision, the next Pete is freaking out as fires coming out of his eyes." He shoved his hands into his pockets and shut his eyes against the images of a screaming Peter writhing in agony.

"We can't keep pretending that Peter's incidents are just coincidences ma," he said softly, unable to look his mother in the eye. "Something's going on and its not normal."

"Don't you suppose we should wait for the doctor's opinion before we make rash judgments, Nathan?" Without looking at her, Nathan could tell that Angela was raising her strategically designed defenses after having abandoned them in the emotional fervor. A telltale change in inflection alerted Nathan to the beginning of this familiar process. He didn't need to see her square her shoulders, narrow her eyes or purse her lips to recognize that Angela Petrelli had her emotional armor well secured.

The heavily charged tension in the air was only increased when Dr. Chandra Suresh appeared at the top of the stairs and uttered the dramatic phrase, "Angela, we need to talk" in a manner that did not bode well.

Nathan followed his mother's sedate steps up the stairs and down the hallway past Peter's room, where Dr. Suresh had assured them Peter was sleeping soundly, to the private sitting area just off of Angela's bedroom.

The anxious family members watched as the professor lowered himself in to a chair with a grunt. "I truly don't know what to say," Dr. Suresh said with a vague glaze over his warm brown eyes. He tore round frames from his face and ran a hand over his balding head.

"Is it that bad?" asked Angela, watching the man closely for any sign of subterfuge or the possibility of a hidden agenda.

He raised his head to fix a probing look on Mrs. Petrelli. "I can't answer that question with any amount of certainty at this point. As you know, I've specialized in advanced genetics for twenty years and I have never come across someone like Peter. Not outside of theory, at any rate." He paused to accept the drink that Angela offered. Resting his back against the velvety smoothness of Angela's settee, his eyes fixed absentmindedly on the cubes of ice swirling slowly about the sweating glass. "Its actually quite exciting," he murmured softly.

The scowls that were produced by his comment were fierce enough to let him know that his opinion was not shared. "Forgive me, that was crass to say the least," he apologized, placing his glass on the nearby side table and rising to pace the room. "However, this truly is an immense development, scientifically speaking. From what I was able to gather by an admittedly cursory screening of Peter in combination with Nathan's generous description of the current events surrounding the boy, it seems that your son is, well, absorbing the abilities of those around him. First Nathan, than his father and, lastly, Theodore Sprague. Astonishing stuff, really," he said, his eyes fairly gleaming with the anticipation of scientific breakthrough.

"Forgive me if I don't share your enthusiasm," Angela replied drying. Nathan buried his head in his hands, willing the exasperating duo to stop dancing around the subject and get to the point: Peter.

Recognizing that he had toed the line of propriety, Suresh cleared his throat and moved to sit by mother and son. "I am sorry for appearing uncaring, Angela. I assure you that I would never make light of a situation in which I felt concerned for Peter's well being, but I can say with almost perfect certainty that Peter is not in any immediate physical danger."

A relieved Angela took Nathan's hand into her own, offering a gentle comforting squeeze to the young man. "Thank God," she murmured softly.

"Perhaps I should have mentioned that from the beginning," Chandra asked sheepishly, realizing that in his excitement he had overlooked the ignorant despair of his patient's family.

"Perhaps," Angela smirked.

"However, I must say that certain precautions will have to be made," he warned. "Peter is in a very delicate state at the moment. His ability is unstable, unpredictable. He needs to be trained to control them immediately."

"I thought you said he wasn't in danger."

"Well, there is always the possibility that he might overload his system by taking on too many abilities too quickly. Also, though he may not be a danger to himself, it is possible that he may accidentally cause serious damage to his surroundings."

"Like this morning."

"Or worse. Sprague's ability isn't simply laser vision. He can manipulate and emit radiation. If Peter was to loose control," the doctor shook his head, "the results could be cataclysmic."

"So what are we talking about here?" Nathan shifted his weight forward, leaning toward the geneticist. "I mean, are we going to hafta lock Pete up in a lead lined room or something? Send him away? Is that the kind of life he has to look forward to?"

Though Angela was horrified by the idea of her family having to face such a future, she was also relieved to be done with the hypothetical discussion and theorizing. She was a firm believer in action and she would gladly fulfill any cautionary measure Chandra could suggest.

"Nothing nearly so drastic," Chandra assured in his most professionally soothing doctor tone. "He should be brought in for blood work ups immediately and, as I said before, you should inquire after someone who could teach him to control his ability. All of his abilities actually," he added as an after thought. "Quite the feat, but I'm sure with your vast connections that shouldn't be problematic." Angela nodded in response, mentally sorting through possible candidates for the important position. "In the mean time," Suresh continued, "I recommend Peter be given a mild sedative. I already administered one dosage…"

Nathan interrupted. "Back up. You gave Pete a sedative without asking us?"

"I wouldn't have done so if I didn't feel it was completely necessary."

"Who do you think you are?" Nathan countered, consumed with the image of a dazed Peter, drooling and unresponsive.

"Nathan, please, that's enough," Angela admonished.

"No, Angela its quite alright. I admire that protective fire, my boy. I anticipate that Peter will require a great deal of support and protection as he adjusts to these changes." The older man rested a steady hand on the shoulder of the anxious older brother. "However, you must understand that unless we take these precautions Peter could be possible of unspeakable atrocities. Are you aware that at six years old your friend Theodore Sprague obliterated his family home? He reduced it, and his family along with it, to ashes and dust. Orphaned by his own doing. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Ted had never mentioned that particular ordeal to his friends, though Nathan supposed he shouldn't be surprised that killing his family wasn't a memory he cherished enough to share. How would sweet, sensitive Peter live with himself if the same happened to him? Who would care for him if Nathan and his parents were gone? Nathan was repulsed by the mere thought. "I get it," he said quietly.

"Sedation isn't intended as a permanent solution," he reminded the pair. "Peter only requires a light dosage, enough to keep him from becoming overly excited, as young boys are apt to become. Theodore controls his ability quite nicely and I have no doubt that, given proper tutelage, Peter can do likewise."

Dr. Suresh's watch began to chime, reminding the busy man that he was late for an appointment across town, which he explained to Angela as he excused himself.

"I'll walk you to the door," Angela offered, ever the gracious hostess.

"One last thing," Chandra remembered, stopping in the doorway and looking back to address mother and son. "Be very careful about allowing Peter in the company of those with abilities he hasn't already absorbed. I can only imagine the damaging affects an influx of newly absorbed abilities could have on his already unstable condition."

"We were planning on enrolling him at the east coat AP academy in a few months," Angela related hesitantly, knowing that Suresh's answer would break her sons heart. "He's really looking forward to it."

"That would be out of the question," Suresh said adamantly, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. "No camp, school, CAP events or fundraisers until he has absolute control of his ability."

"You mean control over the radiation thing," Nathan clarified.

"No, control over his ability to absorb, which will probably be much more difficult. You must focus on the central factor at work. Don't allow yourself to get distracted by the external symptoms or results."

Nathan and Angela both thanked the man for his time and advice. While Angela led the doctor toward the door, along the way setting an appointment for bring Peter for tests the next day, Nathan finally did what he had been longing to do for what seemed like days. He silently made his way down the hallway and stopped in front of his brother's room.

There was a sign on the door that featured PETER painted in primary colors. Nathan had seen it at a tacky Texas state fair and he knew his brother would like it, with its bright colors and the childlike drawings representing zoo animals. He had been wrong. Peter adored it. Nathan could still picture the look of adulation he had received for the simple, inexpensive gift. Angela had eyed the piece of hand crafted 'folk art' with distaste and discreetly suggested that it hand above Peter's bed, but he boy wouldn't hear of it. He insisted it be placed on his door so everyone could see what Nathan had brought just for him.

Nathan shook himself out of his nostalgic reverie. Tearing his eyes away from the lettering, Nathan laid a hand above the doorknob and gently pushed the door open, trying not to make a sound.

The room looked normal, to Nathan's surprise. While he recognized the thought as irrational, a part of him had expected Peter's room to change with him. Yet, there stood the framed pictures, the piles of comic books and mounds of action figures. Hand drawn pictures continued to litter his small desk and the bulletin board was still covered with letters from his brother. The familiarity of it all was a welcome comfort amidst the fervor of mounting change and uncertainty. He perched on the edge of the red race car bed, the one Peter had stubbornly insisted upon getting because Nathan had commented that it was cool.

Peter appeared to be resting peacefully. His small round face was devoid of any signs of stress or anxiety. He knew he should take solace in that. Nonetheless, Nathan knew that it was a false peace, impossible without the translucent little bottle on the nightstand. It was a lie and it broke Nathan's heart.

He leaned over to gently stroke his brother's forehead, extending his reach further to smooth back the dark silky hair. "No matter what you are," he whispered into the boys ear, "You're always Peter and you're always my brother. Nothing can change that, Pete. Nothing." The exhausted young man laid his head on the pillow beside his brother, bending his overly large body to meet the confines of the child size bed.

When Angela walked in a few moments later she found both of her boys fast asleep, Nathan's arm slung protectively across his brother's smaller frame. The sight gave her some modicum of ease, because she knew one thing for certain; through thick and thin, hell fires and high waters, the brothers Petrelli would always be just that.

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Well, what did you think? Yes, lacking excitement, but, I think, necessary. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Please review! I appreciate every one!

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	5. Epilogue O Captain, my Captain

Hi. I didn't really plan on doing an epilogue but…yeah…I did. I also wrote this very late at night and I've very tired, so please excuse any typos. I tried to clean it up but…yeah. Anyways, this is just to tie up some loose ends, I know I kinda left Peter in the lurch last chapter he he he. Please review with comments, constructive criticisms, questions, what have you. Thanks for reading.

**Epilogue- O Captain, my Captain!**

Is there any higher bliss for a parent than that which is experienced while holding a new born infant for the first time? What parent would deny that as they croon softly to their sweet, swaddled offspring they envision a life for that infant as full and happy and healthy and long as is humanly possible? Are parents faulted for imagining the future of their child? No, rather, friends and family smile benignly when fathers present sport paraphernalia to a being too young to fathom their meaning. They concede to the doting mother's gushing assurances that her day old child is the smartest, prettiest, most well behaved infant ever known to man. Her future doctor. His lawyer in training. Tomorrow's headliner. The next hall of famer. Dreams can be such a blessing, especially for the lucky few for whom they actually come to fruition.

Nathan had always been a source of envy for Angela's friends, who insisted upon comparing their rebellious broods to the model student, star athlete, well behaved young man he had become. To be sure, he had made his share of mistakes, but as a whole he was everything his mother and father had intended for him to be from the moment of his conception.

And then came Peter. What to do with Peter? "How could he be practice law if he was going to be erupting all the time?" his father wondered, loudly. "What nice girl would want to marry a boy so obviously not…normal?" his mother worried. Both parents grieved for the child, the man, who Peter would never become, but their grief was silent. Naturally, the pair discussed what should be done about Peter's situation, but, sadly, for Arthur and Angela Petrelli it had become easier to confront obstacles as a team than to confide in one another as intimate companions.

The morning after Dr. Suresh's house call, as the two had planned, Angela escorted Peter, whose mind was still in a sedative induced stupor, to the doctor's upscale new office for blood work-ups while Arthur appealed to his friend and mentor Adam for guidance.

Angela had always fretted over Peter's need to run ahead while they walked down the street or else pause every few feet to watch a snail or pocket an interesting rock, but as she steered her now languid son from the car to Dr. Suresh's building she realized that she would have given anything to have those worries once more. Her lips remained tightly clenched in thin lines as Peter barely acknowledged Chandra's greeting and merely shrugged listlessly when the doctor warned him that drawing blood would require needles along with a bit of a sting. She was almost relieved to be freed from watching the painfully zombie-like behavior in her normally exuberant son when Suresh's secretary informed her that Mr. Petrelli was on the phone.

"I spoke with Adam," he said in lieu of greeting.

"And?" Angela asked, turning away from the young woman sitting close by.

"He said a number of things. He put me in contact with a man who works for the government. He's been training their AP operatives for over ten years. Sounds like our best bet."

"What else did he say?"

"He confirmed something I had been thinking. With the current, well, unfriendly sentiments regarding APs gaining momentum across the international scene we need to be careful who know about Peter's unique situation. We must control the flow of this information."

Angela watched through a small window as Chandra bandaged Peter's arm and handed him something she couldn't see. "Of course," she agreed, moving to another angle in an attempt to make out what Peter had been given, "He must be protected at all costs."

"I'll speak with Chandra about our security concerns. Adam's man will contact us as soon as possible. Meanwhile, keep Peter away from anywhere he might encounter APs. The last think he needs is a rapid influx of abilities."

"I have to go," she said hurriedly, seeing Dr. Suresh lead Peter towards her. "We'll talk later." She handed the phone to the woman at the desk and greeted Peter with a smile. "All done?"

"Your son comported himself admirably, Mrs. Petrelli," said Dr. Suresh, his voice dripping with forced joviality, as he awkwardly patted Peter's shoulder. "Only seven years old and not a single tear. I hope you don't mind that I rewarded his cooperation with a little treat."

Angela eyed the bright red sucker dangling in Peter's limp grasp. Normally she wouldn't have approved of the unhealthy quantity of sugar in the small capsule, but how could she deny the poor boy the simple pleasure after what he had been through? "Of course, its fine," she granted, drawing peter to her side by draping her arm comfortably around his slight shoulders. "You have permission to eat your sweet right now if you'd like," she said in the soft voice reserved for Peter only, hoping that this rare bending of the rules would elicit some response from her son.

She held her breath as Peter glanced down at the sucker in his hand, raising it half-heartedly. She was disappointed. He merely blinked twice at the lollipop before dropping his hand back down to his side, shrugging his shoulders and saying "No thanks" in a tired tone.

Dr. Suresh felt exceedingly uncomfortable at being witness to the heartbreaking scene, especially as he couldn't help feeling responsible for Peter's laconic state. Of course he realized that he wasn't at fault for the situation, but the accusatory looks being shot his way from the razor sharp optics of Angela Petrelli weren't doing anything to lessen his sense of guilt, however undeserved it may have been. "This is a necessary precaution, Angela," Chandra whispered as he walked the pair to the door, "but try to remember that he won't be like this forever."

Naturally, the good doctor was correct, though the period of Peter's sedation often felt like an eternity to his anxious mother. Angela had forgotten how cavernous their home could seem; how readily silence crept through the many halls and rooms in the absence of Peter's bubbling laughter. After all, how could the boy be expected to laugh or joke or play when he spent the majority of his days either in bed or staring out the window at nothing?

Nathan couldn't stand it. He was relieved to escape the brutal pantomime of his former home life only a few days after returning with Claire, having received orders to report to Maryland. "Bye, Pete," Nathan had murmured into his brother's soft, clean hair as he pressed the boy to his chest. "I'll visit soon. Promise."

" 'k," was Peter's only response, paired with a fleeting quirk of the corner of his mouth that could hardly pass for a smile. It was the first time Nathan had left for an extended period of time without having to pry Peter's small arms from around his waist or thigh. He missed that.

A week later the Petrelli's met the man upon whom they had laid their every hope. Claude Raines. CIA. Special Ops. Agent. Operative. Whatever. Angela didn't care what he was as long as he helped her baby. She tried not to despise him for being rude, short tempered and sarcastic. With great difficulty she held back her acid tongue from lashing at this man who insisted upon pushing and testing her gentle son beyond what she considered his limits, though she was grateful that his first mandate was that Peter never be given any manner of sedative or inhibitor again.

"He's the best there is, Angela," Arthur maintained throughout her tirades against 'that odious man'. "He knows what he's doing."

Though she disliked admitting it, Angela knew that Arthur was right. The man was a born teacher, though he didn't appear to derive much pleasure from the task. Together with Dr. Suresh, Claude had formed a crude understanding of Peter's sponge-like tendency and had developed a regime for training the boy to not only control and recall a given ability at will, but after much exhaustive work Peter should be able to suppress the manifestation of new abilities, a skill that would be vital if he ever wanted to walk down the street or play in the park, let alone partake in CAP events.

The work was exhaustive and tedious. Peter didn't like it and he wasn't overly fond of Claude. However, he understood the importance of his lessons; he knew what could happen if he was unable to control himself. Though Angela had quickly seen to repairing the damage in the front room, he would never forget the fire. He wouldn't hurt his family or friends. It was like Spiderman had said: With great power comes great responsibility. Nathan had explained what that meant long before Peter could do anything. Now Peter really understood. He could do amazing things, he knew that. It was his job to learn to 'be smart about it', as his father liked to say. Peter was surprised to learn that he enjoyed being responsible, knowing that he was protecting his family. This knowledge encouraged him to fully immerse himself in his sessions with Claude, displaying self-control and levels of maturity that left his parents baffled.

Unfortunately, he was dealt a heavy blow when time to register at the CAP Academy of Instruction arrived and passed while he remained un-enrolled.

"Your father and I just don't think its safe enough yet Peter. You're not ready to handle that many abilities at once. Maybe next year."

The next year arrived…

"Claude doesn't think you're ready Peter. Be patient and work hard. Maybe next year."

The year after…

"Perhaps we should wait until high school Peter. You're doing so well with private tutoring. We'll wait and see."

Peter was further crushed when, at nine years old, he wasn't allowed to attend Endless Horizons, the CAP summer camp Nathan had been telling him about for years. Peter had been raised on the stories of Nathan's camp adventures and had been longing for the day when he could see the place first hand. Peter had had enough. He was a Petrelli and every bit as stubborn as his father. He argued and begged, pleaded and moaned. When his parents remained steadfast he turned to his only source of conciliation.

"It's not fair," he whined to Nathan over the phone. "I never complained about not going to school or taking these dumb lessons with dumb 'ole Claude, but now no Endless Horizons?! They might as well tie me up and lock me in a box."

Nathan sighed, unsure how to tell his brother that he thought their parents were making the right decision. "Look, Pete," he began. "I know this is hard for you…"

"I just wanted to have fun like you did," Peter interrupted, his sad voice ringing in Nathan's ears. "Fishing and flying and marshmellows. Now I'll never get to do any of that stuff."

Nathan ran his hand over his face, not knowing how to respond to Peter's hopeless statement. He caught sight of his calendar and realized what weekend was coming up next. He grinned and told Peter to put their mother on the phone.

"Are you gonna tell her to let me go to camp?" Peter asked excitedly, sure that Nathan could do the impossible.

"Not quite," Nathan replied. "How about instead of Endless Horizons we go camping this weekend? I have the time."

There was silence on Peter's end.

"Pete?" Nathan asked, wondering if he had already run off to fetch Angela.

"You mean…just you and me?" Peter clarified.

"Yup, oh and fishing and flying and marshmellows of course."

Angela thought Peter might literally die of happiness. When she walked into the room he was whooping, shouting and soaring through the air. In her joy at seeing the return of a side of Peter that she thought had been lost, she acquiesced to Nathan's suggestion without much of a fight.

The days between the phone call and the actual trip seemed to stretch on indefinitely for the excited nine-year-old. Angela swore that he flew more than he walked those days. When the time finally arrived Peter could hardly contain himself. He had never been 'real camping' before, with a tent and campfire. His favorite activity was certainly fishing. Not that the actual sport of fishing especially attracted him. For Peter fishing meant hours sitting on a boat side by side with his big brother. No job or Claire or obligations could come between them at those times. He wished they could stay there forever.

The day they were supposed to leave Peter convinced his brother to take him out on the lake once more. "I wish we never had to leave," Peter sighed heavily, resting his head in his hand as he peered over the edge of the boat into the deep water below.

"So you're not wishing that you could were at Endless Horizons instead?" Nathan teased.

"No way!" shouted Peter, looking scandalized by the suggestion. "Not when I can be camping with you."

"I'm flattered," Nathan laughed. The pair relaxed into a comfortable silence, Peter scanning the distant tree line for one more glance of a deer he had spotted the day prior while Nathan contemplated his little brother.

"Pete," he said after clearing his voice. "I've been meaning to tell you something."

"Yeah?" asked Peter lazily. "What is it?"

"About the whole Endless Horizons and Academy of Instruction thing, and putting up with the dumb 'ole lessons…" Nathan glanced at his brother for any reaction.

Peter slumped down into the bottom of the boat, his eyes cast downward. "Yeah…" he muttered.

"Just…be patient."

"Not you too!" Peter groaned. "I don't see what's so great about being patient. I've been patient for a long time, a real long time. What's the point?"

"What's the point?" Nathan exclaimed, putting down his fishing rod to face his now scowling brother. "Pete, the point is that two years ago you almost burned down the house because you didn't know what to do with your abilities…"

"You know I wouldn't do that again, Nathan," Peter said, hurt that his brother would bring up such a sore subject. "I've learned a lot."

"Exactly my point," Nathan pulled Peter up from the bottom of the boat to sit across from him. "In two years you've progressed so much Pete. I'm really proud of you kiddo."

"Yeah?" asked Peter hopefully.

"Yeah. Ya know why? Not just because you've learned a lot in a short time. It's because, well, you have it hard. Harder than most or really of the rest of us APs."

"Think so?"

"Definitely. Face it, you're gonna be a pretty tough guy some day, but Pete, things that are worth doing are rarely easy. You can't just give up and get mad 'cause things get hard and you don't get your way."

"I know," Peter said sheepishly.

"I guess none of us is really normal. I mean, the average guy can't break the sound barrier, right?" Nathan joked, tickling Peter around the ribs. "But don't start looking at what you can do as something that's bad, something that's holding you back. You're Peter Petrelli, super-freaky-powerful guy in training. Be proud of that."

Peter laughed. "Super-freaky-powerful? I like it."

"I thought you might," Nathan said, ruffling Peter's hair affectionately. "Just don't, ya know, go around picking fights or anything."

"Aw, come on Nate, you know me," Peter laughed.

"Yeah," Nathan agreed. "I guess I do."

"I love you Nate."

"Love ya too, Petey."

Would life be easy for Peter Petrelli? Probably not. What would his life have been like if he had never manifested another ability beyond flight? Would he have conformed to the goals and objectives his parents would wish for him? No one knows. It's immaterial. He is Peter Petrelli. Super-freaky-powerful empath who was destined for greater things than anyone could have anticipated. And that's okay. Because his brother said so.

* * *

Awww…I love them…Please review  I have some other stories in the mix at the moment, so if you're interested be on the lookout or do the author alert thing. I think the next one up is going to be a series of one-shots revolving around how Peter gets his abilities. Maybe.


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